


Every Little Fracture In Me

by theperuvianfolkband



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5527523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theperuvianfolkband/pseuds/theperuvianfolkband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Jupiter by Sleeping At Last</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Bellamy

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jupiter by Sleeping At Last

He is in love with her. 

He’s known since the first day they met when she yelled at him and he saw the spark in her veins and the hope in her eyes. But he’s not a people person so every time they speak it’s in barks and growls, all hostile glaring. He makes declarations of love, so eloquently formed in his mind, through biting words and condescending sneers and every time he contradicts her and sees the heat in her eyes he falls a little bit more and a little bit more. 

But he doesn’t know how to tell her, even after all this time, when haughty looks have morphed into friendship and where once he expressed it through aggression, he now shows it through affection, or as close as he can manage. A hand on her back here, a reassuring grip on her arm there, a constant presence at her side. 

He wants to show her through his actions as the loyal soldier, at the beck and call of his queen, his princess. And though he tries, he finds he can’t be tamed, because he is not a knight, not a soldier, but the rebel king. The title still brings a smirk to his lips every time he thinks of it, thinking of those first days, the blind exhilaration of it all. 

So when she leaves him with only four words imprinted on the skin of his cheek, he can’t help but bear the pain like a scar and wills himself not to fall apart. Because that is not who he is. Yes, he loves her, but he is not the blind knight, useless without a commander. He is the commander, and as much as he loves her, he can’t bring himself to fall apart. 

He is in love with her. 

But he is also strong.


	2. Clarke

She is in love with him. 

She doesn’t know how long or how far or when it began but she knows that she is now and has been for a long time. And she knows that because she loves him she must leave him because she is a broken thing, too broken for anyone to fix and she knows he will try to fix her and she can’t let him. 

She’s always been good at this, this self-sabotaging. It’s a gift, she tells herself with a hint of morbid humor. There was a point where she wouldn’t have run away, where she would have stepped into his arms and given herself willingly, a broken human ready to be made whole again. But that girl is long gone, dead the moment Wells was. 

It shouldn’t have been a problem, in fact it was the most ridiculous problem to be having at the moment, considering, but there she was. She was at war, she killed hundreds of people, she was the harbinger of death, but she couldn’t get over a boy, of all things, and she hated herself for it. The fact that it was this boy was the worst of all. It was like the worst punch line of all time. Because he shouldn’t have been a problem, she knows that. Because when they first arrived on the ground, all she could see were harsh words spilling from cracked lips from a boy; a boy not as badly broken as he thought but taped himself together in the most haphazard way. 

No, he shouldn’t have been a problem, but he was and here she is now, standing at the gate of her once-home, and she can’t bring herself to go inside. 

There is a word, she knows. Hiraeth. Noun. A homesickness for a home you can’t return to, or that never was. She doesn’t know if it’s Camp Jaha she’s afraid of or the Dropship, maybe both, maybe neither, maybe it’s just _him_ she’s afraid of, him and her ghosts. 

So she presses her lips to the smooth expanse of his cheek, so terrified that he will turn and capture her lips with his because she knows she will have to stay if he does. But he doesn’t, and she can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed, so instead she drops four words. Words that have such meaning to her, to her dead, lacing each syllable with a steady beat of _I love you, I love you, I love you._

She doesn’t know if he hears her; hell, she doesn’t even know if she can hear herself, but she turns and leaves. 

With each step, the cadence of her feet spell out _I love you, I love you, I love you._

She can’t bring herself to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know, this kind of took a different turn than I thought it was going to? I hate all the fics that show Bellamy as weak after Clarke leaves because I think that's a completely inaccurate depiction of their relationship because, yeah, they're stronger as a team but that doesn't mean they're incapable by themselves. Anyway. So it kind of turned out weird, but I'm still pretty happy with it. Anyway, merry Christmas/happy holidays!
> 
> Also I'm writing this at 1:00 on Christmas day so don't judge me too hard.


End file.
